


i love you, steve, but you're not mine

by thetinyphoenix



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A lot of Unrequited Love actually, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Corpse Bride (2005) Fusion, And then Forced Divorce ig, Angst, But not on purpose, But then Marriage, Forced Marriage, Jealousy, M/M, Murder Mystery, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Protective Max, References to Canon, Relative Slow Burn, Steve Harrington Being an Asshole, Unrequited Love, but still, fuck him tbh, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetinyphoenix/pseuds/thetinyphoenix
Summary: “Four o’clock and all’s well!”The ring of the crier’s bell.Oh, it went as unnoticed as his yell.The young man’s whole attention was focused on a big, blue butterfly, gracefully slipping itself out of his room as soon as he lifted the glass bell jar. His painting was done. An equally beautiful picture of the flying insect on rough paper.One captured movement.A fleeting moment.Immortalized beauty and grace.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	i love you, steve, but you're not mine

**Author's Note:**

> because i've decided this is both emily and billy's month, here's the corpse bride Harringrove!AU i never knew i needed and which i hope YOU will like! 
> 
> of course, comments and feedback are always appreciated, always looking to better myself and improve. xoxo <3

“Four o’clock and all’s well!”

The ring of the crier’s bell.

Oh, it went as unnoticed as his yell.

The young man’s whole attention was focused on a big, blue butterfly, gracefully slipping itself out of his room as soon as he lifted the glass bell jar. His painting was done. An equally beautiful picture of the flying insect on rough paper. 

One captured movement.

A fleeting moment.

Immortalized beauty and grace.

*

“Where’s Steven? We might be late.”

The voice was stern, deep.

Cold.

“Coming, father.” Steve tried not to shout so he wouldn’t get scolded, as he hurried down the stairs with a slightly disheveled look, the supposedly well-adjusted suit a little rumpled in the back, pants squeezing his thighs a little more than he remembered, though overall not unflattering, and a red tie clumsily wrapped around his neck. His hair was wild, per usual, but he liked it just fine, didn’t pay attention to the glare it earned him nor to the soft “you should cut your hair, darling, it’s getting quite long” he heard a feminine voice say.

Mr. von Harrington took a glance at the heavy watch wrapped around his wrist; his lips pinched in a thin line. It was a beautiful day, a very nice day. And they ought not to be late for the meeting, for he wished this afternoon would be fruitful, and that everything would go… According to plan.

“Where is Hopper? We might be late.” He repeated, this time to no one in particular, though his wife laid one comforting hand on his arm, still, to utter “I’m sure he will be here soon enough, dear, Jim is quite the professional” with a smile that lit up her beautiful face, and it was a wonder how he didn’t melt right in place.

Maybe time had broken the spell.

Steve looked away.

Right on cue, as the impressive clock standing in their hallway rang, the von Harrington carriage pulled up right in front of the steps, one grumpy-looking man sitting in the driver seat, an impressive cigar pinched between his lips, surmounted by an equally thick, brown mustache.

He coughed twice, and Steve wondered whether he was going to spit one of his lungs out.

“Steven, this is our one chance to buy what money can’t. Do you know what that is?” Steve heard his dad say as soon as he was seated on comfortable crimson pillows. He shook his head no.

“Respectability. Through your marriage, we will be carried into the halls of high society! Maybe then we will finally forget who we’ve been. No-name new riches.” His father said with disdain. “So, make sure you fulfill your husband’s duty. Don't try being funny, don’t try being quick. You're not very clever, nor very slick.” He concluded, unaware of the fact these unkind words broke his son’s heart just a little bit. Steve’s gaze drifted away, cutting off all the additional derogatory comments that were addressed to him, those that weren’t meant for him to hear, just wondered how this was going to go. If everything was going to go…

Well.

According to plan.

*

“I’m nervous.”

The voice was quiet, soft, barely more than a whisper.

“Oh, Claudia, what if Steven and I don’t like each other?” she asked in a worried tone, her voice wavering just a little as she looked at her reflection, her already-small waist rendered so petite inside of her corset.

Nancy Wheeler could feel her cheeks burning, grabbed a bit of the white powder she usually used as makeup to remain so stubbornly pale, and decided to focus on that as Claudia loosened her corset just a little. She wondered how Steve von Harrington was going to be, clearing her throat as a pang of guilt washed over her, for she knew already she could like him all she wanted, but would never be able to love him fully – to love him like a wife was supposed to care for her husband.

Jonathan had told her himself: she had no choice. Or it at least surely felt like it to the young lovers. This was never meant to be, and they didn’t belong to the same worlds.

She had no money anymore, and he had none in the first place. They couldn’t just leave and never return.

She pinched her lips, tried not to cry. This would ruin her makeup, and she focused on it as her sour expression turned into something close to cold determination. Maybe she could pretend a little longer to be fine with whatever this was. Perhaps Steven would agree to do so as well.

“For heaven’s sake, Nancy! What is that supposed to do with marriage?” she heard someone exclaim, interrupting her thoughts, could very well recognize the tone of voice of her dear mother who’d just stepped inside of the room, blonde curls tied back in a strict bun that made her look ten years older than she actually was. She looked good, still, elegant in a burgundy dress that was probably preventing her from breathing properly, and Nancy silently prayed for Karen Wheeler not to notice the way the ribbons of her corset were a little loose themselves. “Do you think your father and I ‘liked’ each other when we got married?”

Her father was standing next to her mother, and it came as no surprise that Nancy hadn’t noticed him sooner. Edward had a very unrecognizable face, and it was no wonder who his daughter inherited her beauty from. He wasn’t tall, yet wasn’t exactly short, and perhaps had drunk a little too much during his early twenties, for the buttons of his vest threatened to rupture, painfully held by a few sewing stitches. The young lady had never seen a smile on his face, couldn’t exactly remember any expression on the lazy, sleepy features, really. Couldn’t picture him gazing lovingly at her mom.

“Surely you must have. A little?” She asked, still.

She would have laughed, seeing her parents’ face and hearing their vehement “of course not!”, if they wouldn’t have been appalled by her supposed lack of modesty. Nancy was about to open her mouth again, point out rightfully how she had been conceived, how they surely had wished, at some point, for a family of their own, but the doorbell rang, and Karen turned on her heels immediately, not bothering with looking back at her daughter as she waved disdainfully towards the maid:

“Get those corsets laced properly! I can hear her speak without gasping!”

*

“Smile, darling, smile,” Karen commanded her husband as they arrived in the great hall, Edward managing to offer her a half-convinced grin, which appeared to be more of a painful grimace than anything. She held back a heavy, annoyed sigh, and turned towards the door, as their butler, Sam Owens, opened it.

Both the von Harrington and Wheeler mothers offered each other fake smiles as soon as their gazes met. Striking blue against a deep maroon, assessing one another’s postures, faces, and attires. Karen’s eyebrows furrowed as she noticed the heavy ring wrapped tight around the pale hand of Nell von Harrington, wondered, not without disdain, how her husband managed to raise enough money to buy her such jewelry. She managed not to turn green with jealousy, tried to be reasonable as she figured these new-riches’ money would soon be hers, thanks to this wedding.

“Well hello! Welcome to our home. Such a pleasure to have you.” She turned to her right, only noticing she’d been embarrassingly silent so far, and thanked her own spouse for his unusual loquacity.

Steve was looking at his future father-in-law, trying not to laugh as he saw one button pop off and roll to his feet, lips tightly pressed into a thin line. If his parents noticed, they, however, didn’t address it either, didn’t even smile as they stood under the porch.

“Thank you for having us. Your house is lovely.” His father eventually replied after a few painful seconds, tilting his head just right, in a polite manner, towards the Wheeler. Respectful, and yet still so full of himself, considering them like he did everyone else. The brunet doubted William Harrington saw Karen and Ted as much more than a means to gain artificial respectability, just like he wasn’t entirely sure about the aristocrats’ own motivations.

“We will be taking tea in the west drawing-room. We still await Pastor Brenner. Tell Nancy to come down.” He heard Karen say, didn’t even manage to get a word, to reply politely to the shallow greetings he’d just witnessed. Before he even got the chance to turn back to his mom, seeking reassurance, the parents had started heading towards the aforementioned room, leaving him there, forgotten. The butler was gone as well, leaving him alone, surrounded by somewhat sinister paintings.

Until he noticed it.

The piano.

*

Unaware of the scene playing downstairs, Nancy was adjusting her dress nervously when she heard the first notes of the piano, glancing at the corridor as she hurried downstairs, once having made sure no one would see her running around the house. She stopped at the top of the stairs. One young man was seated in front of the piano sitting in the great hall, his back turned away from her, and she couldn’t bring herself to just turn around and go back to her room.

“How lovely.” Her words came around naturally, in a voice so soft it was a wonder why Steve, startled, jumped in his seat, knees banging against the wooden instrument, knocking off the tiny vase that threatened to fall before he grabbed it in a surprisingly good reflex – given how clumsy he looked, tall and lean, all long limbs and slightly gauche.

“Oh, I. Forgive me.”

“You play beautifully,” Nancy repeated.

“I… I do apologize, Miss Wheeler. How rude of me to…”

He stopped when she took a few steps closer, could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his index finger uncontrollably went to graze over the fabric of his own sleeve, nervously picking at the surprisingly poorly stitched thread of a too-expensive suit.

“The song. What is it called?” She didn’t let him finish, just stared at the black and white piano keys with an expression close to bitterness. Maybe that is exactly what it was

“It… Nothing. It just came to me.”

“How nice you found a way to let it out.”

She paused, didn’t seem too phased by the silence settling awkwardly between the two of them, but eventually saved Steven from further embarrassment as he didn’t know how to handle such a compliment. He’d never really been praised for such inspiration. “Mother never allowed me near the piano. She believes music is improper for a young lady. Too passionate.”

“If I may ask, Miss Wheeler...”

“Perhaps, given the circumstances, you could call me Nancy.” She offered, in a calm voice, antagonizing the slight stutter that came across Steve’s tongue when he’d pronounce her name. It struck her. How different they were.

“Yes, yes, of course. Well, Nancy ... Tomorrow we are to be...”

“Married.”

“Yes. M-Married.”

She sighed as she sat down on the piano bench.

“Since I was a child, I've dreamt of my wedding day. I always hoped to find someone I was deeply in love with. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. Silly, isn't it?”

He didn’t know if she expected an answer, but moved a little closer at that, with a kind, warm smile. It pained her, almost, to read such gentleness inside the brown eyes. For a moment, their gazes met, and Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he took ahold of the tiny lily bathing in the vase he’d nearly knocked over a few minutes ago, to gift it to his fiancée. He’d been raised an only child, grew up in a family that probably would have been more loving if not so obnoxiously rich.

He just had so much love to give.

So, when his eyes settled upon the sharp, slim features of his bride-to-be, he was immediately convinced he could make it work, that she had to be the one for him, and not just because someone else had decided it. And the realization of this dawned on him, crystal clear, wrapping him in a kind of warmth he’d never experienced.

He was no longer alone.

“How improper! You shouldn't be alone together! Here it is one minute before five, and you are not at the rehearsal. You might be late!”

Well, not entirely alone, at least.

*

Steve breathed in. Out.

“Let's try it again. Shall we, master von Harrington?” the pastor asked, one frown set deep on his face, holding on to his scepter pretty tightly as if he was keeping from actually hitting Steve with it. Which might have not been that far from the truth, the brown-haired suspected.

“Yes.”

Brenner hissed.

“Right.”

“Right,” Steve repeated, straightening up, although he was still holding his left palm up, naively.

“Right hand!” he got yelled at, tried to ignore the heavy sighs of both his father and Karen Wheeler. This had started three hours ago, to be fair, but surely the nervousness was eating Steve up. Nancy seemed sweet, and he would be lying if he said she wasn’t everything he’d have imagined marrying when he was a kid. But despite all of this, despite the need to finally have someone to hold close to his heart, the whole thing scared him to no end, made his fingers tremble as he kept his palm open towards Brenner.

Something didn’t feel quite right.

“Oh, right.” He corrected his position, pinched his lips tightly before clearing his throat too uncertainly. “Hand, yes ... with this hand, I will...”

He took four steps forwards instead of three, bumping against the table, jumping a little as he took a step back, only to step on Nancy’s toes, muttering excuses confusedly. She didn’t seem to mind, just offered him a somehow shy smile, but her eyes were encouraging. Steve’s clumsiness was endearing, and although her heart belonged to another, she’d never doubt he was a fine man, never wanted him to feel embarrassed or uneasy.

This only added up to the guilt building inside of her.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for I will be your wine. (…) With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” Brenner said, with his brows furrowed, eyes throwing daggers at Steve. The latter’s cheeks were burning with shame, and he muttered the first part of his vows correctly, growing more and more confident until he tried lighting up the candle he was holding in his right hand. Leaning closer, he was about to groan when the flame finally caught.

Until the sigh of relief, he let out eventually accidentally blew it out.

The silence that followed crushed him.

“Have you at least remembered to bring the ring?” the pastor asked in a defeated tone, lightning up Steve’s candle himself, growing more and more impatient as his sighs started echoing the brunet’s father, who sat down on his chair, back straight against it, while his wife was desperately holding on to his forearm, brows furrowed with worry. She knew how her son felt, could very well tell the incessant remarks only made him more unsure of himself. It was pointless to keep going, and she’d have begged her husband to make it stop if it weren’t for the Wheeler and the urgency of the situation.

They were to be married tomorrow!

“The… Yes, of course!” Nell nearly fainted out of relief; lower lip caught between her teeth. And yet, her contentment was short-lived, because the ring slipped from Steven’s hold, dropping on the dark tiles, its sound covered by the loud, outraged gasps of not only Nancy’s parents but his own.

Quickly enough, the young man scrambled on his hands and knees, the ring rolling under Karen’s chair before he could get ahold of it. Steve’s hand reached for it still, desperately, ignoring the cries of Brenner and the worry eating him back up. Even Nancy covered her mouth in shock, eyes going wide as she watched in horror the newly-lit flame of Steve’s candle, still in his hand, catch onto her mother’s dress.

“Got it!” the young man claimed proudly until Karen’s scream made him turn back to her. He tried to put it out, his own father soon pushing him away from the burning cloth as he spilled the wine Owens had brought him onto the crimson fabric.

It all felt like ten seconds. Roughly.

Brenner’s finger was pointed towards the door as his voice resonated against the walls of the gigantic room, all eyes set on the pale, mortified figure of Steve. He looked down at his own feet, couldn’t bear the thought of looking at his mother. He’d always dealt with Eugene’s wrath and disappointment, but Nell was as sweet as one can be. He was afraid he might have let her down once more because of his own incompetence. 

Humiliation burning through his entire body, Steve stumbled out of the room, five words echoing in his mind.

“Young boy,

Learn.

Your.

Vows.”

*

Amongst the cawing of crows, Steve was mumbling, voice indiscernible. His eyes were slightly red by now, out of exhaustion and despair, pick your poison. He’d been walking for about an hour by now, each step leading him deeper into the unwelcoming woods surrounding the small town in which he lived, although he wasn’t much scared by the sinister atmosphere of the scenery. The moonlight was streaming through the naked branches of the trees who, for the most part, had been stripped off their leaves by the cold temperature of unforgiving autumn. The light shone brighter when he arrived near a large tree, who marked the ending of a clear-cut path.

“With this hand, I lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, I will be your wine...” he finally recited, raised his eyebrows in surprise after an hour of failed attempts to get it all right. The crows seemed to cheer him up as their screams got louder, and he mouthed a silent “thank you” in their direction.

He breathed in. Out.

“With this candle, I will light your way in darkness...” he kept on going and took the ring out of his pocket as he noticed a small root poking out of the ground, right in front of him. His voice dropped a little, full of seriousness as he finished, slipping the ring onto the crooked, tiny hand-shaped branch: “with this ring, I ask you to be mine”.

Everything fell silent after that, but for the sound of Steve’s panting.

He looked up at the crows, who were sitting on the trees, looking down at him. All of a sudden, the thick bushes and naked trunks of the surrounding trees didn't seem all too reassuring. The way the root wearing the golden ring twitched, yet it went unnoticed, until he reached for the ring, wondering if maybe it was time for him to go back home, never tearing his gaze away from the yellow, sharp eyes staring back at him. As soon as he reached for it, the root suddenly twitched again, until it encircled his wrist, his eyes widening with horror as he realized he was being pulled into the ground. Soon, his knees hit the ground, unable to plant his feet correctly, as some unknown force kept dragging him down, the earth ready to swallow him whole. Catching onto a rock, he managed to pull back miraculously, ripping a mass of roots and dirt away while doing so, landing on his ass in a way that would have seemed funny if only he wasn't so painfully aware of what was happening.

A yell caught in his throat as the crows had started cawing again.

A skeletal arm.

It took him a moment to understand what had wrapped around his hand was a skeletal arm.

The brunet he ripped it away with such force it fell three steps further at least, though his attention didn’t quite focus on the poor twitching bones on the frozen ground, but rather the way said ground split open right in front of him to reveal broad shoulders, mud-covered curls, and slightly blue, cold-looking skin.

“You may kiss the bride.” He heard a voice say, weirdly sarcastic-sounding, hoarse like it hadn’t been used in a while, years maybe, but he didn’t give it much thought as he scrambled back onto his feet, running away as soon as his brain caught up on what was seemingly going on. Steve tripped on the way, stumbling out as if he was drunk, tree branches and invisible bushes making it hard for him to navigate through the woods, but he knew, felt this presence behind him, following. So, he kept running for his life, desperately praying he would reach the bridge, as if it represented his safe heaven, knowing he might be able to call for help if he got there.

When Steve reached the bridge, he was panting and exhausted. Everything was silent, and he turned back to look behind him, see if there was any chance he might have imagined all of this. His hands were shaking with fear, anxiety building inside of him as he stood motionless in front of the forest. He was met with more silence.

He did reach the bridge, and yet this wasn’t enough to save him.

The crows came back so suddenly, startled him, and, as he was turning on his heel, blue eyes met his.

* 

When Steve opened his eyes, he was in a pub. An unusual one, for sure, with green flames burning in the fireplace, a band of skeletons playing some jazz music on a small stage, a blue-skinned lady pushing a cart between tables which weirdly resembled horizontally-placed coffins. Weirdly enough, the place looked warm, as if it held all the joy he could never have found in the living world.

The first thing he registered was the dull ache in his head, and the blurry figure floating right in front of him, blocking everything else in his field of vision. He blinked the vision away, though all he managed to accomplish was, in fact, to distinguish the forms of a crowd leaning over him, two particularly blue eyes soon hovering above him, closer than all these faces staring at him out of curiousness.

“Are you alright, pretty boy?”

Steve had never been spoken to in such a warm way, the voice sweet and inviting, words wrapping around him like a thick blanket would. Until it vanished with the memory of what had just happened, leaving him feeling as if he’d just been thrown a bucket of cold water right in the face. He stood up so quickly his head started hurting, even more, each heartbeat resonating against his temples.

This place...

He'd been brought to the world of the dead.

The brunet didn’t waste much time, and as soon as he was standing up, he grabbed a sword apparently stuck in some curly-haired guy’s back, lifting it in the air. The man who had checked on him took a step back immediately, surprise painted on his handsome features, and yet he didn’t say anything, the corner of his lips turning downwards slightly enough, as he looked at the brown-haired male with a worried expression. Steve figured no one would ever fear the sharp blade of a sword here, given the way every single person around him had stopped breathing long ago.

Still, he needed to shield himself from the guy. The one who chased him in the woods, given how blue these eyes were. It was obvious the von Harrington son didn’t trust him one bit, given how he’d just been ripped away from his own world. He pointed the sword towards this unknown man, threatening, he hoped, when the latter tried taking a step closer, concern written all over his face because of Steve’s change in behavior.

“Keep away! I've got a ... Dwarf.” He said, realizing only now the smaller curly figure was still attached to the sword, facing the other clients of the pub who had gathered around them by now, curiousness getting the best of most of them. New arrivals were always so much fun, he heard someone whisper but didn’t pay attention to this much.

“I'm not afraid to use him! I want some answers! Now!” he finished lamely. The brunet was trying to be brave, but it was pretty obvious by the way his hands shook that he was actually pretty terrified.

“Answers. I think you mean answers.” Dustin mumbled with a playful eye-roll and then frowned. “And I’m a kid, not a dwarf, watch your mouth.”

“Thank you, yes, answers! And sorry. Uh… Anyway. I need answers. Why am I here? Who is he? What is he?” he finished; eyes set on the man who he could only assume brought him here. Glaring at him, really. Who did this man think he was, after all? And why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Since you’re asking…” he then heard, turning his head towards the small stage. The person who had just talked was a skeleton, the one Steve guessed was playing music a few seconds earlier. Confusion written all over his features, he glanced at the man whose name was still unknown to him, for no one had bothered providing him the answers he’d just asked. To his utmost displeasure, all he earned from him was a wink, and he wondered whether this was all part of a dream.

“This is going to be good,” Dustin said loudly, interrupting his thoughts, as the skeleton’s fingers started snapping in rhythm, to Steve’s utter disbelief.

“Hey! Give me a listen, you corpses of cheer,

'Least those of you who still got an ear,

I'll tell you a story to make a skeleton cry,

Of our own jubiliciously lovely William.”

**Author's Note:**

> gotta admit i had to look up the word "jubiliciously" in the dictionary


End file.
